Finding Mr. Write (Business of Love #5) - Ali Parker Page 0,17
It was still damp but not nearly as soaked through as it had been when I first arrived.
“Can I drive you? The weather is still miserable.”
I considered saying no, but the thought of walking all the way back to my motel made my legs hurt. “That would be amazing.”
He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m parked out back. Let’s get out of here.” He called goodbye to Charlie, who waved without looking up at us while he dried freshly washed glasses. Wes opened the back door for me and we stepped into a well-lit parking lot. There were only three cars there. A red sedan, a black old mustang, and a luxury car of some sort in pearl white.
I assumed my new writer friend drove the sedan.
When he strode over to the pearl-white vehicle and opened the passenger door, I had to keep my composure. I thanked him, slid into the seat, and wondered how he made enough money to buy such a nice car. The interior was all white leather with red stitching. It smelled like new car and leather, and when he got in and started the ignition, I could barely hear it. All the lights in the dash came slowly to life, and an old rock song played softly on the radio.
“So where are you staying?” Wes asked.
“The Super Eight down the block.”
He frowned. “Are you pulling my leg?”
I shook my head. “No, like I said, budget issues.” I felt like a dumbass for making the crack that he’d understand that since he was a writer and all. Clearly, he had no such troubles.
He put the car in reverse and pulled out of the space. Soon, the headlights were leading the way down the street to my motel. Minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot. Wes peered up at the motel and I could see the worry in his eyes.
“This is no place for a young woman to stay by herself,” he said.
“It’s all I can afford.”
Wes drummed his fingers on the top of his steering wheel. “I can help you find a job, you know. Sometimes, a couple connections are all it takes to get your foot in the door somewhere.”
I smiled and took my seatbelt off. “I appreciate that offer, Wes. I really do. But I believe in making my own way. I came out here to prove to myself that I’m capable. I’m going to build a life for myself, not take handouts.”
“You’re stubborn, aren’t you?”
“One of my best qualities.”
Wes nodded as I got out of the car. He leaned over the console to peer up at me. “Am I going to see you again?”
I raked my fingers through my hair. “You know where to find me, Shakespeare.”
Chapter 8
Wes
Fourteen years.
She hadn’t seen him in fourteen years.
The night she’d gotten in the back of that taxi and driven away from him had been the biggest mistake of her life. At the time, she’d thought she was doing the right thing. She was so sure he wasn’t enough for her, so sure that there were bigger and better things out there waiting for her on the horizon.
All that had been waiting for her was discontent and a man who didn’t love her like he had. And that’s who she’d married.
How could she ever forgive herself? How could she go back home after all this time and tell him what a horrible mistake she’d made?
She opened the cupboard and fished the largest pieces of the broken china cup out of the garbage can. She held them in her hands like a bird with broken wings and flipped the pieces over until she found one with a whole flower on it. Briar poured the rest of the broken pieces back into the garbage can but held the flower to her heart and thought of her mother and—
I stared down at the page and Briar’s name written in my handwriting. How had that happened? The woman had been on my mind relentlessly since I sat with her at the bar last night. I’d thought about her as I went to bed and again this morning when I opened my eyes. Now here I was scribbling her name into my story.
“Get it together, Wes,” I grumbled as I crossed her name out and replaced it with the character’s real name, Katelyn. She’d been named after Katie at the El Cartana. Or rather her name had been inspired by Katie. I hoped she knew that when she read this